Domesticity
by Susan M. M
Summary: Chapter 3 of the Mrs. Standish AU.  In chapter 1, Ezra was the guest of honor at a shotgun wedding.  In chapter 3, he must learn to live in "wedded bliss" with his unwanted bride.  Be warned:  AU, Mary Sue, PWP: Plot? What Plot.
1. The Honeymoon Cottage

**Mrs. Standish AU: Chapter 3, Domesticity**

**Standard Fanifc Disclaimer** that wouldn't last ten seconds in a court of law: These aren't my characters (other than Rina and her kinfolk and a few minor townsfolk). Other characters and situations based on the _Magnificent Seven_ TV show, borrowed for um, uh, typing practice. Yeah, that's it, typing practice. They will be returned to their original copyright holders relatively undamaged, or at least suitably bandaged. Be warned: this is the third story in an Alternate Universe series. It's AU, it's Mary Sue, and it's PWP. If you object to AUs, Mary Sues, or PWPs, you might be happier reading something else. Black Rook writes excellent M7 fanfic; so do StrangeVisitor, clair beaubien, and sammie28_. _And they have plots in their check out their work. Originally published in the fanzine Let's Ride #7, from Neon RainBow Press, in November 2004.

**"_Domesticity'_**

Chapter 3 of the Mrs. Standish AU

by Susan M. M.

"_And you never seen, so they tell me, __such downright domesticity_"

"Sobbin' Women," from _Seven Brides for Seven Brothers_

**M7*M7*M7*M7*M7**

"Hardly palatial, but it appears to be structurally sound," Ezra Standish observed

"Are you sure it isn't held together by the cobwebs?" his wife Marina asked, looking around the abandoned house with dismay.

"I admit it's a trifle dusty, but I have every confidence in your domestic abilities. I'm sure you'll be able to set the place to rights in no time." The dark-haired gambler looked around the filthy house. Calling it 'a trifle dusty' was pure litotes. "And it has the advantage that we can take possession immediately."

The thin woman replied, "You may be able to take possession from the bank immediately, but it will take at least two days' hard work - more likely three - to make the place habitable." She brushed a bit of dust and cobweb off her coppery hair. "But it can be done."

The house was at the edge of town. Four rooms: parlor, kitchen, two bedrooms. There was a grassless yard surrounded by a faded picket fence, and an outhouse and a ramshackle shed in the back.

"I'll tell the bank we'll take it." The profits from the saloon were more than enough to afford the mortgage. Indeed, he could probably buy the place outright, although that would leave him with fewer liquid assets than he preferred. "I prefer not to have you living above the saloon any longer than necessary."

Nervously, afraid of the answer she might receive, she asked, "Will you be staying at the saloon?"

Ezra scowled at her. "Maintaining separate residences, Mrs. Standish, sounds rather like locking the barn door after the horse has been stolen."

Marina bit her lip. Ever since Ezra had found out she'd lied to him, he had stopped calling her 'Marina' and had reverted to calling her 'Mrs. Standish.'

After Judge Travis had told Ezra that he would grant neither an annulment nor a divorce, Ezra had gotten so drunk he couldn't tell his left hand from his right. The next morning, she'd lied and claimed he'd consummated the marriage. Thinking he'd already lost his chance for an annulment, he'd decided he might as well derive some benefit from their shotgun marriage and had claimed his husbandly prerogatives. By the time he'd realized he was deflowering a virgin, the marriage was consummated. He hadn't called her by her first name since then. She had tried calling him 'Ezra' twice. He'd rewarded her with a dirty look both times, so she'd gone back to addressing him as 'Mr. Standish'.

"Of course, I'll keep a bachelor _pied-a-terre _at the saloon," he added.

"Of course, Mr. Standish," she agreed meekly. She had no idea what a pied-a-terre was, but now did not seem like a good time to ask. She warned, "A lot of the furniture is only fit to be chopped into firewood. We'll have to replace at least half of it."

"Order what you need. My credit is good at all the local stores."

"I'll make this into a proper home for you, Mr. Standish," she promised.

"A home?" he repeated disdainfully. "A man's home is supposed to be his castle. This clapboard shanty is not what I had envisioned as my castle. Nor is the liar Rina Henshaw whom I had in mind for my queen."

There were a hundred things she could have said. Reminded him that she hated the nickname Rina and loathed her stepfather's surname (or indeed, anything to do with her stepfather's family). Pointed out that as a professional gambler and semi-retired con artist, many people doubted his veracity. Told him that since Judge Orin Travis had made it very clear that he wouldn't annul their union, there was no reason to keep it a marriage in name only. Reminded him that they'd both consented to the marriage, she to escape the Henshaws and he because he had a gun in his face; he could have refused if he'd believed in 'death before dishonor.' Apologized for lying. But she said nothing. She just watched as he stomped out of the house.

**M7*M7*M7*M7*M7**

Marina Standish borrowed an apron from Mary Travis, and a dress so old that Mary assured her it didn't matter if it got ruined. She took cleaning supplies from the saloon's kitchen. And for two days, she swept, mopped, scrubbed, and scoured.

**M7*M7*M7*M7*M7**

"I need to speak to you about these bills," Ezra announced. "Were you under the impression that I am made of money?"

Marina decided not to reply that town gossip claimed he was the second richest man in town, after the banker. "I've been as frugal as possible, sir, but we need nearly everything: furniture, blankets, dishes, silverware, kitchen utensils. I wasn't willing to telegram Franklin County and ask the Henshaws to send my hope chest."

Ezra inhaled. He had no more desire to contact her family in Franklin County than she did. Carl and Daniel Henshaw had nearly shot him where he stood just for having his hands on Marina. Under the mistaken belief he'd compromised her, they'd forced him to marry her. And as she had pointed out when he'd asked the judge for an annulment, they were likely to regard that as an insult to the entire Henshaw family - an insult that could only be avenged in blood. His blood. No, telegraphing the Henshaws for personal property Marina had left behind was not an option.

"Very well, madam. Buy what you need."

"It won't be as bad as you think, Mr. Standish. We've already started getting a few wedding presents," she informed him.

"We have?"

"Household goods, mostly, but everything we get is something we don't need to buy." She tallied the gifts off on her fingers. "Bathtub from Mr. Jackson, pots and pans from Mr. Larabee, mixing bowls from Mrs. Travis, canning supplies from Mrs. Pettit "

"Mrs. Pettit?" The sour old biddy didn't even like him.

"Dont worry, I'll take care of the thank you notes," Marina told him. "As soon as I buy some stationery."

With a sigh, he opened his wallet and handed her some cash. "Try not to impoverish me, will you?"

**M7*M7*M7*M7*M7**

"Gentlemen, may I interest you in a friendly game of cards?" Ezra asked.

"Sorry, Ezra, I'm all tapped out," replied Nathan Jackson. The ex-slave was the town healer, the closest thing Four Corners had to a doctor, but business had been slow lately.

"Me, too," agreed Josiah Sanchez. The ex-preacher was a tall man with pale blue eyes, as homely as Ezra was handsome. His face, though plain, was one that small children and dogs trusted instinctively.

"Oh, just a friendly game, not for money."

Nathan and Josiah traded suspicious glances.

"Since when are you interested in playing for matchsticks?" asked Nathan.

"Not matchsticks," Ezra said.

**M7*M7*M7*M7*M7**

"Good morning, Mrs. Standish."

"Good morning." She looked at Nathan and Josiah, standing there on the front porch, buckets in their hands. "What may I do for you?"

Nathan lifted the pails for her to see. "Came to whitewash the house."

"I thought Ez- Mr. Standish was going to do that."

Josiah grinned ruefully. "We played cards with Ezra, and lost."

She frowned. "I'm going to have to have a word with that man."

"Ma'am, you'd have an easier time getting a skunk to squirt perfume than you would have getting Ezra to do something straightforward if there's a twisted way to arrange things," Josiah told her.

"So I'm beginning to notice. I don't suppose you've got enough there for the fence, too?"

"Not sure. We'll see if any's left when we're done with the house," Nathan promised.

**M7*M7*M7*M7*M7**

"You've been working two hours or more. Would you like to come inside and sit for a few minutes? Maybe have a glass of lemonade?"

"That'd be right kind of you, Miz Standish," Nathan replied.

She poured lemonade into three mismatched glasses. They sat and sipped for a few minutes, chatting amiably.

"If Ezra had just asked, I'd have been happy to help him out. He didn't need to beat us at cards to get us to whitewash the house," Nathan said.

Josiah shook his head. "Ezra's mind is like a ledger. If he asked us for help, then he'd owe us a favor. And you know he don't like being beholden to nobody."

Marina nodded, absorbing the information about her husband for future reference.

Josiah drained his cup. "Not to speak ill of your husband, but Ezra ain't much of a handyman. Is there anything else we can do for you after we finish the whitewashing?"

"I don't suppose either one of you knows how to put up bookshelves?"

"Bookshelves?" Nathan repeated. "Did Ezra marry himself a bluestocking?"

"Not for me," she denied, although she'd always loved reading, whenever she could spare the time from her chores for Gram Henshaw. "For Ezra. It just goes to figure that a man who talks like that must have a fair amount of education. He'll want books in the house."

"Ezra's borrowed books from me once or twice," Josiah acknowledged, "and I know enough carpentry to put up shelves. Be happy to tend to that for you, ma'am."

**M7*M7*M7*M7*M7**

"Are you ready to stop for lunch?"

"Yes, ma'am, we sure are," Nathan replied.

"Do not bind the mouths of the kine that tread the grain," Josiah quoted.

Nathan and Josiah had started on their second helping of ham sandwiches and blueberry muffins when Ezra walked in the door. "You look like you've made an excellent start, gentlemen. As for you, madam, what are you doing entertaining gentlemen callers when your husband is away from the house?"

"A fine wife I'd be if I let my husband's friends go hungry - especially when they're doing the work he promised to do." She got up and made some more sandwiches for Ezra. She set them and a glass of lemonade before him.

"I said I'd take responsibility for getting the house whitewashed. I never said I'd do it myself," Ezra parried.

"And I never said I wouldn't burn your dinner," Marina muttered.

Nathan chuckled.

"Do you remember a discussion we had the day after we married? A discussion about sticks?" he asked pointedly.

"Yes, Mr. Standish." She knew he wouldn't really take a stick to her. At least, she didn't think he would. She also knew not to push him too far. "Would you like a blueberry muffin?"

Thank you." He was pleasantly surprised when he bit into it: light, fluffy, tasty, and generously laden with berries. "Adequate."

"Adequate? These muffins could win a prize at any county fair, and you know it," Josiah protested.

"Adequate," Ezra repeated, but Marina saw the twinkle in his jade-green eyes.


	2. The Marriage Bed

**Author's Note:** The language is T, but some of the subject matter is M. If you find it offensive, PM me. I may need to change the rating.

/

"Mr. Standish, I was just about to eat without you. I was beginning to think you decided to have dinner at the saloon."

"Do you mind explaining something to me?" he demanded angrily.

"What is it?" He was making her a little nervous. She couldn't think of anything she'd done to annoy him recently.

"Your purchases at Mailander's."

She tried to think. She'd bought so many things, furnishing the house. She couldn't remember what she had bought where.

"The Winchester."

"Oh, that."

"Yes, that. Why does my wife need a Winchester?"

To herself, she smiled just a little. If he was concerned about what was or wasn't proper for his wife, like living above the saloon or owning a rifle, then he did care, just a little. "Ezra - Mr. Standish - ever since we came here, people have been telling me about what you and your friends have done to protect the town. I've had a dozen strangers tell me they owe their lives to you and Mr. Larabee and the others. That means there will be nights when you won't be home, nights when you'll need to assist Chris Larabee. The rifle is for nights when I'm home alone. Now will you sit down and eat your dinner before it's completely overcooked?"

"Can you even fire a rifle?"

"It would be a waste of your money to buy one if I couldn't."

"Answer the question."

Marina pulled the roast chicken out of the oven. "I doubt that I'm as good a shot as you are, but," she remembered his description of her muffins, "adequate. I don't expect to go running into the face of danger like you do, sir. I just need to be able to frighten an intruder off and summon help from the neighbors."

"And are you expecting a plethora of intruders?"

"Mr. Standish, you have enemies. When you are in town, I have every confidence in your ability to protect me. However, if duty calls you away from home, one of your enemies may try to harm me to get revenge on you." Marina didn't mention her fears that the Henshaws might come after her. She pulled two baked potatoes from the ashes and placed one on his plate. "Please eat, sir."

The smell of the chicken forced him to obey her urgings. "If it's that dangerous to be married to me, you should have grabbed your freedom when the judge gave you the chance."

She ate for a moment without saying anything. "If you prefer, I'll take the rifle back to the store in the morning."

Ezra chewed for a moment as he thought. The chicken and potato gave him an excuse not to reply right away. "What's in the pot on top of the oven?"

"Green beans. Overcooked now - I expected you earlier." For a few moments both ate in awkward silence, before she said, "I owe you an apology, Ezra."

He raised a supercilious eyebrow. "For burning dinner or for buying the rifle?"

"For lying about what happened when you were drunk," she confessed shyly.

"That's more than a simple 'I'm sorry' will cover," he retorted.

"All's fair in love and war. And I wanted to avoid the annulment as much as you wanted to get it."

"So you lied."

"Yes, Ezra." She waited for him to say something - anything - but he was too angry to respond. "Gram Henshaw always claimed that men think with their trousers instead of their heads. I thought if I became your real wife, instead of just in name only, you'd give up the idea of an annulment."

"I gave up the idea of an annulment because we no longer have grounds, not because you're my 'real wife.' There is nothing real about this marriage," he told her.

"A woman needs a husband to protect her. A man needs a wife to tend to him. I cook your meals. I wash and iron your clothes. That looks pretty real to me."

"There's more to a marriage than that," Ezra informed her snidely.

"It's your decision that we're not - "

"That's not what I meant," he interrupted. "I was thinking of love, or at least affection and respect."

"Love wasn't something I saw much of with the Henshaws," Marina said.

Ezra said nothing. His mother had never provided him with much in the way of a proper example of love or a normal family life. Maybe that was why he'd always wanted a real marriage someday, instead of just marrying a wealthy widow, the way his mother had gone after rich husbands with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel.

"Gram always encouraged her sons and grandsons to go out tomcatting. That way she could run the ranch the way she wanted to, without them interfering. I didn't stop to think that assuming you'd act like them was insulting your intelligence. You're nothing like the Henshaws. You never will be; you never could be."

"Thank you for that vote of confidence, at least," he replied sarcastically.

"I'm sorry, Ezra. I tried to tie you to me in bed, and all I did was push you farther away. But we are married now, for better or for worse."

"Yes, we are, Rina." Ezra sighed. "Yes, we are."

She decided not to say anything about his use of her nickname. After all, he'd let her address him by his first name without saying anything. "I'll not lie to you again, sir," she promised, crossing her fingers under the table.

/

Ezra was completely dressed when he stepped into the parlor the next morning. He stopped short when he saw Marina sewing white lace. He relaxed when he saw one window modestly draped with curtains, and the other still bare. For a moment he'd thought she was sewing a wedding gown. "Could I trouble you for some warm water for shaving?"

"It's no trouble, Mr. Standish." She hurried to the kitchen and returned with the teapot.

He wondered why he found her damned eagerness to please so annoying. Most men would be grateful for a woman who was willing to wait on them hand and foot. He stayed in hotels in New Orleans where the maids didn't give as attentive service - although the maids were much prettier, and much less clumsy in bed.

"I'm sorry, I didn't expect you for a bit, or I would have had it waiting in the bedroom," she apologized, handing him the teapot.

"I've never regarded early rising as a virtue," Ezra said.

"Not a virtue, Mr. Standish. Just a habit. Her arthritis had Gram in such pain that she never slept more than a few hours a night, and when she got up, I had to," she explained.

"Don't you think lace curtains for this place is rather like gilding a dandelion?"

Marina smiled. "I know if you'd had the time to build a place of our own, it would have been much larger and grander. And I don't doubt that someday there will be a bigger house, either here in town or out on a ranch." Her hazel eyes gazed up at him. "It wouldn't surprise me in the least if you won a ranch in a poker game. But for now, I want to make this the best possible home for you I can."

It was too early in the morning to deal with adoration. Ezra changed the subject. "Is that coffee I smell?"

She nodded. "Would you like a cup now, or after you shave?"

"After. I shan't be a minute." He started back to the bedroom.

"Mr. Standish, are you feeling particularly brave this morning?"

"Brave?"

"I was going to try to make _crepes Suzette. _But I've never made them before," the redhead confessed. "If you'd rather not risk it, I can practice on Sheriff Dunne first, and make you something I know how to make instead. Bacon and eggs, or oatmeal."

"I doubt that JD's palate is sophisticated enough to appreciate _crepes Suzette,_"Ezra announced scornfully_. _"I'll eat them."

"In about an hour, Mr. Standish?"

"No, go ahead and start them now." An early breakfast wouldn't kill him, he decided. It seemed a small enough concession after last night.

/

"Good morning, Mrs. Travis."

"Mrs. Standish. Good morning." Mary was surprised to see Marina. Since coming to town, Ezra's wife had barely left the house.

"Billy's not around, is he?" the redhead asked.

"No, he's out playing. How may I help you?"

"This is a trifle embarrassing, but I don't know whom else to ask." Marina Standish lowered her voice. "I have some questions - about marriage."

"Didn't your mother -" the blonde began.

"She died when I was twelve. I don't have anyone else to ask. You're my only female friend in town," Marina explained. "I can't very well ask Josiah or Buck."

Mary nodded. Some things could only be discussed woman to woman.

"I'm a little confused about ... the marriage bed," Marina confessed. "When I overheard my cousins and stepbrothers talk about tomcatting, when they didn't realize I was in earshot, it was something fun for them, like playing baseball or riding a fast horse, only better, but not something fun for the woman. When Parson Jenkins talked about fornication, he made it sound like it was something foul and terrible. And when I read romantic dime novels to Gram, they made it sound like it was touching heaven. But it isn't anything like that." Marina sighed. "Maybe I'm not doing it right?"

"Has Ezra hurt you?"

"Not on purpose," Marina assured her quickly - almost too quickly. "But the first time, well, it was very uncomfortable. Last night wasn't as bad, but it wasn't as special as everyone claims, either. Or as horrible as Rev. Jenkins said."

"With the right man, it can be ... very special." Mary wondered how much was the fact that Ezra wasn't the right man, and how much was Ezra not being gentle enough with an inexperienced bride. Perhaps she could discreetly ask Chris to have a quiet word with Ezra; he had been married. She tried to remember back to the early days of her marriage, when she and Steven had first come to know each other's bodies, the clumsy fumblings, as their passion outstripped their knowledge. The first time had hurt, and it wasn't until they'd joined together three or four times that it really became enjoyable. But she and Steven loved each other, desired each other ... despite both their inexperience, the first few weeks of their marriage they'd coupled furiously, eagerly, like rabid weasels.

"Do you love Ezra?"

"I like him very much," Marina hedged, side-stepping the question.

"Why? What about him attracts you?" Mary asked.

"Have you ever looked at him?" Marina asked rhetorically. "I can't remember when I've seen a man half so handsome. And the way he talks, like he swallowed a dictionary, and that accent. I'd pay money just to hear him recite poetry."

"But that's not love," Mary said. "That's not enough to base a marriage on."

"Maybe it's not love yet, but it's a start. Love will come, as we get to know each other better."

Mary persisted, "And if it doesn't?"

"He puts a roof over my head, and food on the table. He treats me courteously, and he's never laid a hand on me. That's more than a lot of wives have. It would be nice if he came to care for me - and it wouldn't take much effort for me to fall in love with him - but I don't want to be greedy, or ungrateful for what I do have." She took a deep breath. "He's a good provider. I do my best to tend to him. For now, that's enough."

Remembering what she'd had with Steven, Mary felt sorry for Marina and her low expectations of what made a good marriage.

/

Ezra Standish walked home for lunch. One of the few things he could say in his wife's favor was that she provided a better meal than the saloon did. He stopped in front of the house, startled by an unexpected noise. Curious, he walked around to the back. He took one look, then hurried into the house.

"Mrs. Standish, were you aware that there are animals in the back yard?"

"Yes, Mr. Standish." She ladled out a bowl of vegetable soup for him.

"Were you under a misapprehension that you married a farmer, madam?"

"No, Mr. Standish." She put on a pair of thick gloves and removed the cornbread from the oven. "Don't burn your mouth; it's hot."

"Why are there chickens in my back yard?" he demanded.

"You enjoy omelettes, Mr. Standish, and omelettes require eggs," she replied matter-of-factly, refusing to let his dismay faze her.

"And the cow?"

"You take cream in your coffee, Mr. Standish."

Her logic dumbfounded him. "I said you could get a cat, not Noah's blasted ark."

"And I thanked you for permission to get Shadow."

"Would you explain to me, madam, why you felt it necessary to obtain my permission to get a mouser, which cost us not a penny, but bought livestock without so much as a by-your-leave? Do you know how much a cow costs?"

"Probably better than you do, sir. I kept the books at the Circle H for the past four years," she retorted. She took a deep breath before continuing, forcing herself to remain calm. "The chickens and cow are an investment. They'll be cheaper in the long run than buying milk and eggs every day, and the milk and eggs will be fresher. It's your responsibility to earn enough money to put food on the table, mine to provide that food as economically as possible. Surely you don't fault me for doing my duty?"

Ezra didn't feel like arguing with her, and he couldn't think of a decent counter-argument, anyway. "Then why didn't you simply get the cat on your own authority?"

"Can't eat a cat - unless you're very hungry. And some people don't like cats." Her hazel eyes took on a faraway look for a minute. "Carl shot my cat for target practice."

The gambler's anger seeped away. "I'm not Carl."

"For which I go down on my knees and thank the Almighty daily, sir. Drink your soup. It's getting cold."

/

/

/

/


	3. A Night Out with the Boys

Rina Standish looked up from her sewing. She heard a horse rushing up to the house. Her husband threw the door open and hurried in.

"What's wrong?" she asked. Ezra never came home at this time of day. And he always walked the few blocks from the saloon. He never rode.

"Trouble," he said, as he proceeded to their bedroom.

She followed him, saw him grab his pistols, and hurried back to the kitchen. When he came out, a sixgun on each hip and spare ammunition in his belt, she was cutting up yesterday's chicken.

"Don't bother waiting dinner for me; I may not be home until tomorrow," Ezra warned her.

"Can Mr. Larabee wait for two minutes?"

"What?"

"Can you wait a moment, and I'll pack you something for later. You'll need to eat something eventually. "

"Two minutes."

It was closer to five minutes, but she packed cold chicken, fruit, bread, and cheese for his saddlebag, and filled an extra canteen of water at the well. "Take care of yourself,"she said.

His green eyes twinkled. Anyone else would have considered the advice unnecessary. "I always do."

**M7*M7*M7*M7*M7 **

"Getting too dark to follow the trail," Vin Tanner announced The bounty hunter had pale blue eyes and long brown hair.

" Let's stop and make camp," Chris Larabee ordered. "We'll start fresh first thing in the morning."

Gratefully, the other five stopped, dismounted, and began setting up camp. Only Vin had been able to see the trail in the dim light; the rest had been ready to quit half an hour ago.

"What you got there, Ezra?" Nathan asked a few minutes later.

Silently, the dark-haired gambler held up the drumstick for him to see before he continued eating.

JD looked at the beans heating over the fire, then at Ezra's chicken. "Don't s'pose you've got enough to share?"

Ezra raised an eyebrow at the impertinent question. He said nothing, but ate a little more slowly, clearly savoring his dinner.

Buck said, "Y'know, JD, Miss Nellie's a fine cook. I'll bet she taught Casey."

"So?"

"So iffen you married her, you could eat as well as Ezra," Buck suggested, trading an amused glance with the others.

As they ate, the other five shot envious glances at Ezra, knowing it would be a waste of time to ask him to share. Larabee, as usual, was quiet. Nathan, Buck, and JD chatted quietly about non-consequentials.

"Y'know, Ezra, you're damned lucky," Buck said after Ezra finished his chicken.

Ezra merely looked at him as he chewed his apple.

"Your wife ain't the prettiest woman in town," Buck continued tactlessly, "but she's a fine cook, she fusses over you enough to pack you a picnic when we're going after a pair of desperadoes, and she's too dumb to know what a louse you are."

The others chuckled.

"Oh, she knows," Josiah said. "She likes him anyway."

Ignoring their laughter, Ezra wondered just why it was Marina seemed so fond of him. Lord knew, he'd done nothing to warrant her affection or devotion.

Granted, he was handsome. He had a certain undeniable charm, a raffish gallantry. Definitely he possessed an urbane sophistication she would not have seen amongst the Henshaws. On second thought, perhaps it wasn't so extraordinary that she admired him.

Josiah sat down next to Ezra. In a quiet voice, he remarked, "You're thinking about Marina."

"I have always made it a point never to stay where I wasn't wanted. Marina does not possess the same sensibilities."

"You never stayed where you weren't wanted because half the time you left one step ahead of the sheriff," Josiah reminded him.

Ezra refused to dignify that comment with a response, especially as it happened to be true.

"I know you two ain't in love with each other, but for what it's worth, she does like you."

"The sentiment is not mutual," Ezra muttered.

"She ain't a bad woman," Josiah pointed out.

"Mrs. Standish has many admirable traits. Nonetheless, I prefer life as a bachelor. However, Judge Travis has made it clear that he will countenance neither an annulment nor a divorce, and he will use his influence to make sure no other judge in the territory obliges me in altering my marital status." Ezra sighed. "I could venture out of his jurisdiction, and seek a divorce in San Francisco or Texas, but the judge would surely make his displeasure known if I returned without her." He could simply stay in California or Texas, rather than let Judge Travis run his life. But after all the time and trouble he'd had saving up to buy the saloon, he didn't want to pull up roots. He'd never had roots before, had never settled anywhere, man or boy, for longer than a few months.

A thought occurred to him. "She's spoken favorably of you, Josiah. I would not stand in your way if you –"

Josiah held up his hands to ward off the very notion. "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife."

Ezra pondered the thought of going to San Francisco. Certainly, it possessed a more sophisticated milieu than Four Corners. He could probably obtain a divorce there. Even after arranging alimony for Marina, he'd still have some money left. He could sell the saloon and buy a new establishment in San Francisco.

But leaving Four Corners meant leaving six men he'd never expected to befriend, six men he'd never expected to regard as brothers. Nor had he anticipated his duties as peacekeeper being anything other than an occasional nuisance.

Thinking of San Francisco bought Lee Pong to mind. Now there was a sweet girl ... perhaps he could look her up whilst he was in town. Suddenly a thought struck him, with all the force of a thunderclap. "Josiah, you worked amongst 'the heathen Chinee.' What do you know of Chinese marriage customs?"

"Not much. Why?"

"It seems to me I've read that in China the groom pays a purchase-price for the bride, sort of a reverse dowry. I was just wondering if, under Chinese law, Lee Pong could be considered my wife. Bigamy, I believe, is grounds for annulment," Ezra said.

"The judge might have trouble believing Lee Pong is your wife, 'specially considering it took you two or three weeks to remember her. 'Sides, he's more likely to toss you in jail for bigamy than give you an annulment."

Ezra mulled over that idea. That wasn't an impossibility, especially given Judge Travis' personal feelings toward him. Of a certainty, the judge would point out that Chinese custom had no bearing on American law. Perhaps it would be better not to mention it at all, rather than be laughed out of the judge's office.

Josiah reminded him, "The Good Book says a virtuous wife is more precious than rubies. 'The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her.' Be grateful for what you got."

"But – "

"When you're playing cards, you can't win every hand," Josiah interrupted. "Can't you just accept that this is one game you're not going to win?"

**M7*M7*M7*M7*M7 **

Larabee had not been joking about starting first thing in the morning. He roused the men before dawn. Ezra was not the only one to complain about the early hour, but he was the loudest. They were back in the saddle as soon as there was enough light for them to follow the trail.

It took them only half an hour to find their quarry. The end of their hunt was anti-climatic. Seven against two was hardly a fair fight, especially when the seven were Larabee's riders. It was nine o'clock by the time they returned to Four Corners and deposited the pair in the jail.

At a quarter past nine, Ezra opened his front door. He was startled to see the Winchester on the parlor table. He looked around, and saw Marina asleep in the chair. She was dressed in her best nightgown, the lace-trimmed one she always wore when she tried to entice him into making their marriage bed more than just a piece of furniture for sleeping. A book lay on the floor where it had fallen out of her hand. The pewter candlestick holder was covered with melted wax. She must have fallen asleep and let it burn itself out.

"I thought I told you not to wait up for me." He thought about waking her up and asking her to make him a proper breakfast. He didn't think she'd mind, not as eager to wait on him and cook for him as she always seemed. He bent over, kissed her cheek gently, picked her up, and carried her to bed.


End file.
